


Laid Bare Before Mine Eyes

by Pseudosanity



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudosanity/pseuds/Pseudosanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sees what's hidden, but searches for what's not yet found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid Bare Before Mine Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is somewhere after “The Hive” but before “Epiphany.” This was just an idea that had been circling my head for awhile. No real point to it aside from a possibility of how they'd get together and then it grew wings and flew away~. :'D Hope you enjoy its flight.

Ronon hadn't been in the City Of The Ancestors long, but he understood a few things already. Firstly, everyone obeyed Dr. Weir because not only was she their qualified leader, but they loved and respected her too. Secondly, these people that inhabited Atlantis were not from this galaxy, which was apparent given their strange garb, although their methods and behaviors were also foreign to him. Lastly, and probably most importantly, very few dared to get too close to him; they either regarded him with fright or fascination.

Well, most of them.

Sheppard treated him friendly enough, unafraid to stand nearby or smile lazily at him, and whatever distance he gave was to be polite. Teyla, too, didn't mind his company since she was no longer the sole “alien” amongst people from planet Earth. She was considerate and kind with a wisdom gained from a hard life and reserved to some degree, but that was towards everybody, not just Ronon.

Dr. McKay was exceedingly different than the rest of his team. He steered completely clear of Ronon unless it was a dire situation, even then he tried not to be within personal space. Originally McKay's spot on the team puzzled Ronon since he didn't quite know the man's significance on the field, but that quickly turned into amusement as he watched McKay. He talked fast—usually about things no one paid much attention to—yet he spoke as if every word uttered was vital and well worth a listen, so Ronon listened. On top of that, McKay was a terrible liar if only because all his emotions were displayed on his face clear as day (perhaps unintentionally, though he seemed incapable of mastering the art of schooling his features). And for all his arrogance, McKay was more insecure than he let people believe, a front many were definitely ignorant to, so the ploy was obviously working. However, Ronon saw in the jests that he made of Sheppard's unruly hair he'd gladly trade his own for similar strands. In the constant insults he delivered to Zelenka that belittled the engineer's intelligence, he glimpsed the desire to remain as levelheaded under pressure whenever things went wrong like Zelenka did. His jabs towards Dr. Beckett about medicine being a lesser form of science could've been construed as envy for his knack of making friends so easily whereas McKay failed to get someone to admit to even liking him. There was also the Caveman nickname McKay granted Ronon that he translated to mean McKay wished his athleticism could compete with his own.

Little things that any other person would surely brush off, but Ronon was a lot more analytical than people gave him credit. Seven years as a Runner and one was bound to become highly observant. Problem was that once he realized there were coded messages in McKay's words, he concluded there were hidden meanings in _everything_ he did and then couldn't stop watching him at all opportunities.

Ronon was in the middle of his third week at Atlantis when he was eating alone at a table in the mess hall. Teyla had had a quick lunch before she went off to meditate whereas Sheppard hadn't shown up at all—discussing stuff with Weir, maybe. Either way, Ronon was alone until McKay plopped down in front of him.

“You don't mind, do you?” he asked belatedly, glancing up, and Ronon shook his head despite the random appearance.

It was the first time McKay had approached Ronon by himself—on both ends. Normally someone was with him or vice versa if the scientist showed. This was probably a good sign, although it didn't mean McKay wasn't completely scared of him anymore. As close as they were now, Ronon saw that his movements were still careful as he ate when usually McKay thought nothing of his surroundings when it came to food. Ronon didn't touch his tray in favor of watching the older man slowly chew his sandwich and sip his cup of water. No one initiated conversation, odd given how talkative McKay was, but he didn't mind too much. It was actually rather nice, this silence, and offered him a better chance to study his new interest.

McKay's head was bent slightly, his face partially obscured, so his view was more of the top of his head than anything else. Staring at the thin black tresses that decorated his skull, Ronon thought his hair really wasn't as bad as McKay made it seem. After all, there were no bald spots or gray areas and regardless of the slight receding hairline, it didn't paint his head as too large like it did on some men. Plus, it wasn't so short that bundles couldn't be grabbed or fingers couldn't run through it; McKay was stressed over nothing.

He dropped his gaze to the broad line of shoulders beneath the dark blue jacket. The fabric stretched tight over them, almost as if it didn't quite fit, but the coat hung loose about his torso in a way that revealed that the size was fine: McKay just had wide shoulders. Ronon couldn't read anything about his arms with the long sleeves ruffled like that, so he studied his hands instead. They were nice hands, really, big yet not unsightly with long fingers. He thought they were rather elegant, perfect for playing an instrument. McKay would be a good musician; he was confident with his fingers, quick when need be and meticulous always. His hands were probably what Ronon liked best about him physically.

Ronon realized he'd been gazing too long, so when he raised his eyes to McKay's face he wasn't surprised to find him looking back. Still, he kept his lips sealed until apparently his teammate decided they'd been quiet long enough.

“What?” McKay snapped, possibly more nervously than he intended.

Ronon shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

He said nothing.

“Any particular reason why?” he pressed. When Ronon didn't answer, McKay huffed and narrowed his eyes, straightening as he lifted his chin. “I don't know how it was on Sateda, but where I come from staring is considered rude. Some people can even be _killed_ over something as innocent as glancing in a certain person's direction,” Ronon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not that I'm going to have you killed or anything—that'd be absurd. I'm sure you'd take them out before they reached for their weapons anyway, so that would be kind of a little bit pointless. Anyway, I'd like to know just what about me has you so intrigued, if you don't mind telling. I can't very well go throughout the city with a pair of eyes following me everywhere, now can I, hm?”

His lips curled in a tiny smirk. “Maybe, maybe not. We could put it to a test.”

McKay's eyes widened, clearly not expecting that kind of response. For a brief moment his mouth opened and closed several times, then he waved his hands in an exasperated gesture. “Now see here! I am not going t-t-to—to—to—to agree to this _test_ ,” he spat the word, “of yours. It's ridiculous! I mean, seriously, you can't honestly think you'll be around every time I'm doing something or—”

Ronon cut him off by setting his palms flat on the table and leaning forward, inching their faces closer. It abruptly shut McKay up. “Wanna bet?” He grinned, feral and derisive, before snatching his tray as he stood and walked away, leaving a stunned scientist with a dropped jaw.

  


Of course he couldn't be there whenever McKay did something mediocre like yawning or stretching, but he could be around whenever he was clueless to his settings, which fortunately was a lot even without having to learn McKay's schedule. Once he'd been walking down a hall, attention directed to the tablet in his hand, when he had idly looked up and found Ronon not too far headed his way, focusing intensely on him. McKay had stumbled to a halt, crooked mouth going slack, frozen to his spot like at any moment the Satedan would attack. Ronon had simply smiled slowly, their shoulders brushing and gazes locking, when he'd passed McKay.

Another time McKay was in his lab at his laptop, brow furrowed from deep concentration as he typed furiously, but then suddenly he stopped and his posture went rigid. He reluctantly looked over his shoulder to see Ronon lent casually in the door frame, arms and ankles crossed with the toe of his boot balanced on the floor. His satisfied little smirk in its proper place contrasted the spooked, worried frown on McKay's lips. Ronon advised that he not stay up too late and reverted to his ominous lurking. McKay had no choice but to turn back around to resume his work, although he didn't get much done until he felt Ronon's presence disappear. A quick glance behind confirmed his suspicions, so he'd slouched and started typing unremitted again.

The final straw was actually a spontaneous encounter that involved great timing nine days after the challenge had begun.

McKay finished piling breakfast on his tray and spun around to find a seat, yet was stopped by the solid barricade of Ronon right in front of him. Startled, McKay jumped back, his hip colliding painfully with the metal ledge that held the food. Ronon's rumble of “Sorry.” was drowned by McKay's yell of “Okay, you've had your fun—you can stop now! Preferably before I die of a heart attack!”

For awhile Ronon merely looked at McKay, eyebrows drawn together in an unreadable expression. “Okay.” he agreed, reached past McKay for a mini carton of milk, then left to join Sheppard and Teyla at the team's usual table.

McKay was shocked by his acquiescence.

  


Four days went by since the “test” (or whatever it was) ended, but during that time Ronon caught McKay still checking over his shoulder for him and it never failed to make him chuckle. By the sixth day, Ronon stopped caring if he checked or not.

He showed up for training thirty minutes early to get some stretches done as well as a bit of practice with the Bantos rods. Despite how quick he had picked up the style, he knew he could better familiarize himself with the sticks so that they didn't feel like extra weights in his palms, would instead become extensions of his arms.

The door to the gym opened while Ronon slid into another transition, his guess being that it was Sheppard, except as he turned his head he saw McKay. Nothing about his expression betrayed his curious thoughts when he shifted to a casual stance, both rods held in one hand at his side.

McKay stood in the doorway, glancing around the room before his sight settled on the Satedan. “Hi,” Ronon tipped his head back a little, waiting. “Right—um—are you busy? I wanted to talk to you for a minute before you, you know, go about beating the crap out of Marines.” McKay smiled weakly at the joke, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Or maybe to let his nerves out? He seemed kind of tense standing there fidgeting his hands.

“Go ahead.” Ronon said as he raised the rods to his rest on a shoulder.

Those were the keywords for McKay to finally step inside the gym, but he left a large gap between them, which annoyed Ronon. He thought about moving nearer, just to force McKay to get over his paranoia about encroaching his space, but decided not to since that would get the physicist sidetracked. Whatever he wanted to talk about sounded important, judging from how he took a moment to think over his words.

“So I noticed you stopped following me around Atlantis,” he began slowly, briefly dropping his gaze to his feet. “I have to admit I was a bit surprised that you did.”

Ronon furrowed his brow, perplexed. “You told me to stop.”

“Yeah, I _know_ , but unless our lives are suddenly in danger or something goes horribly wrong with Ancient technology that only my superior intelligence can fix, I'm usually the—that is to say, people don't—well, frankly, they _ignore_ what I say, particularly my complaints that involve not to bother me,” McKay paused and made a motion with his hand towards him. “I guess what I'm trying to say is thanks.”

Wow, McKay was a weird guy if he thought that was such a big deal. Then again, he had a point about people always messing with him. He tended to be the brunt of a lot of jokes among the people of Atlantis and Ronon would be lying if said he'd never made fun of him. Shrugging, Ronon crossed the room to put up the Bantos rods. “S'okay. Figured if someone was bugging me and I told 'em to quit, I'd mean it.”

McKay frowned. “You weren't bugging me.”

Ronon gave him a look of disbelief. “Sure, McKay.”

“No, really,” he assured, firmer this time. “At first, yeah, it was bothersome because no one really does those things sans creepy stalkers, but I dunno,” He twisted his mouth. “I got used to it.”

“Huh,” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Ronon crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Got used to it?” he parroted, willing McKay to elaborate.

Nodding, McKay shrugged a little. “Well, yeah. It wasn't like you were going anywhere any time soon. After awhile I started looking forward to it.”

Ronon raised his eyebrows, unable to keep a small smile from gracing his features. McKay's eyes widened when he caught his slip.

“That's not what I meant!”

Smile stretching into a grin, Ronon walked forward. “What _did_ you mean, McKay.” he urged, more intrigued by the second.

Flustered, McKay fumbled for a moment; his eyes darted away and he did that fish thing with his mouth where it opened and closed several times, desperately raking his brain on how to fix this. So caught up in his blunder he didn't notice that Ronon gradually moved within reach. His cheeks were crimson and Ronon could see the embarrassment that glinted his light cerulean eyes. It was almost comical, if not endearing.

Apparently he found his voice then. “Just that, well, you know, once it started to be a routine—you showing up at odd intervals—it became less freaky and more normal? Like, I could get through my day okay because I knew what to expect. I knew I'd see you watching me at some point.”

“So you're saying,” Ronon said calmly, trying hard not to smile again, “I was a form of comfort.”

“No! Yes? I don't know.”

He laughed softly at the deep frown on McKay's face. The sound pulled the scientist out of whatever misery he'd been wallowing in as he rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Anyway, look, do you wanna maybe hang out some time? You're officially on the Atlantis team and if we're going to be working together, we might as well get to know each other better since I'm resting my life in your hands when we go on off-world missions.”

It was an abrupt change from their previous topic that Ronon almost didn't know what to do, how to answer, but his features returned to easy stoicism. “Seriously? McKay, you can't even stand to be within five feet of me still.”

McKay glared, his hand indicating their current proximity. “Oh? What's this then?”

“ _Me_ going over to _you_ when you were distracted. You don't trust me; you're scared of me.”

“That's a lie—and I'm not scared of you!”

He appeared genuinely angry, maybe offended, yet Ronon ignored him as he inched closer, putting them nearly chest to chest (as close as their height difference allowed). McKay's flinch supplied evidence, but to his credit he didn't step back. “Prove it,” Ronon growled. “Hit me.”

“What?” McKay blurted, eyes wide. “Why?”

“You're not afraid, you won't care if I hit back or not. Simple as that.”

“No, that's not simple, that's _stupid_.”

“So you're not gonna?”

“Absolutely not!”

“I wouldn't hurt you.” Ronon admitted softly.

“Yes, of course, I know that.”

“Do you?” Ronon glared, strength returning to his tone, as he bent his head down, their gazes locked. “You're sure?”

When McKay didn't immediately respond it was all the answer he needed. Irritated and mildly wounded, Ronon meant to turn around to put distance between them once more, except he stayed rooted after McKay's hand grasped his upper arm and jerked him so they remained facing each other. He scowled, prepared to tell him to let go, but McKay didn't let him.

“Okay, okay, fine, _yes_! Yes, I'm scared of you—only a small fraction though, I swear. I mean, look at you! You're this… tall, dark, deadly warrior that stalks around not making any noise and you carry hidden knives in your hair—your _hair_ for Christ's sake—and you've killed Wraith barehanded—who the hell _wouldn't_ be scared of you, Ronon? Some kind of _idiot_ , and I assure you, I am not an idiot. But I do trust you, understand? Even though my fight-or-flight reflex screams at me to run away whenever you're too close—like right this very instant, mind you—I tell it to shut up because Colonel Sheppard trusts you and if he trusts you then, well, obviously you can't be too bad of a guy. Also, if you were going to hurt me, you could've done it a long time ago. When we first met, for instance! Perfect opportunity to gut me or slit my throat or—after all, I was just _dangling_ there from a tree, getting skin damage from that sun's UV rays thanks to Ford and—”

Ronon ceased the ramble as he grabbed the back of McKay's head in both hands and captured his lips firmly under his own, effectively silencing him. There was a small deferral where McKay made some kind of noise that was a cross between a hum and a whimper, but Ronon was pleased when he returned the kiss rather than pushed him away. He knew Earth had that strange “Don't Ask, Don't Tell” policy, and though McKay wasn't part of the military, it didn't necessarily mean he liked men either. However, no need to worry: McKay's mouth was pliant and responsive, giving just as much as he received.

Alas, they had to stop before they got too carried away.

Ignoring his reluctance, Ronon lifted his head with a quiet protest from McKay yet didn't stray far. He kept his body flush against the older man, fingers digging into his scalp. “Thought you'd never shut up.” he grumbled blithely, each word brushing his lips over McKay's temple.

McKay lifted his hand to side of Ronon's face as he tilted his head up, nose grazing his cheek. “Hm, yes, well, mission accomplished. I've shut up.” He wrapped his fingers around one of the Satedan's dreads, tugging him down to fasten their mouths again. Ronon snaked his tongue inside McKay's parted lips, pushed passed rows of teeth, and tasted hints of the coffee he was so fond of. He took his time licking every crevice he could before finally twining their tongues. Pressing his mouth harder against McKay's, Ronon deepened the kiss at the soft sound of a moan.

Maybe if he had any shame he would be embarrassed how strongly the simple act affected him. He was so hard he was ready to burst. It had _really_ been awhile, though an absolute nice change from his hand. Yet Ronon had to break away again. “Wait, wait,” His voice was gruffer; a sign of his want.

“ _Whaaat_?” McKay groaned (more like whined given the squeak of his tone).

“Can't. The Marines'll be here soon,” Ronon was equally disappointed, but he'd be damned if anyone walked in on them, regardless if they stuck to making out or moved onto _other_ things. “Doesn't mean I wanna leave things here. We'll just pick up later.” Ronon promised, smiling, and placed a quick peck on McKay's pulse, right over the spot that correlated to his own tattoo. Luckily, McKay only sighed and nodded instead of arguing—or worse, getting defensive.

A few minutes after they separated and calmed down Sheppard entered with the Marines, surprised to find his friend in the same room as the new guy, let alone in the gym. “Hey, Rodney, Ronon.” he greeted genially, which really meant _What's going on here?_

Ronon looked at McKay to deliver an explanation because he had zilch. The genius didn't seem to think one was necessary though. “So—uh—I'll see you then? Yeah… Um, have fun.” McKay waved awkwardly and headed for the door, nodding a hello to Sheppard when he exited. The lack of help from McKay caused Sheppard to look toward Ronon for an answer. He was glad his pants no longer felt too tight, otherwise they'd all figure it out without the need to open his mouth.

Ronon shrugged. “He wants to hang out since I'm on the team.”

Which wasn't a lie. The Colonel was still suspicious despite accepting the excuse.

They proceeded to train afterward with no hiccups. Ronon was a bundle of energy, although not exactly an unnatural occurrence because anyone that knew him learned he enjoyed all kinds of physicality; it was merely a different sort of vivacity. Less controlled, more restless. And he continued glancing at the clock stamped on the wall. A couple of times Sheppard warned him to ease up, which he did by a margin. According to the countdown on the timepiece, they spent two hours perfecting the Marines techniques.

Ronon went with the group to shower, making quick work of washing with a bar of soap. No sooner had he dried off and dressed did Sheppard approach him. “Want to go for a run?”

“I have plans.”

“Oh yeah? Doing what?”

Ronon could've sworn that _what_ sounded deviously like a _who_. But damn, he knew that voice. It didn't matter that he hadn't been under Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard's command long: all figures of authority had that same _you're not getting out of this without talking to me first_ connotation. So he stopped, turning toward Sheppard with mild exasperation painted on his features. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation.

Sheppard raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Hey, I just thought you could learn the layout of the city better, being new and all.”

“I know the layout fine.”

“Is that right? Well, you won't mind telling me the fastest way to get to the East Pier without a transporter from here then.” Sheppard smiled one of his fake smiles that kept the air light and relaxed.

Sighing, Ronon recited an outline of directions from memory. “Make a right out the gym, walk down three halls, go left pass the auxiliary lab, down a four-stair flight. A back door's at the end of the hall. Leads to the pier.”

There was a moment's pause, then Sheppard nodded. “I was going to say take a puddlejumper, but your way's good too,” Ronon couldn't help his little grin at the man's sense of humor. “Well, I guess I can't really keep you from your _plans_ , but...” He grew serious, eyes losing their playful spark. “Just be careful, okay? I know he can be annoying sometimes 'cause McKay will be McKay, but he means well.”

“Understood.”

“Good. And if anyone says anything—”

“Don't Ask, Don't Tell, right?”

Sheppard gave him a weird look. “No. Rodney's Canadian, so that doesn't apply to him. I was gonna say if anyone says anything, try not to mortally injure them, even if they're being an asshole. It's hard to replace people. Take it up with me or Weir; we'll handle it.” Supportive, Sheppard patted Ronon on the arm before he sidestepped him, going for a shower of his own.

Ronon watched him disappear, truly not expecting the pep talk to go in that direction, but it was better than saying he had to put a stop to something before it had begun. Smiling privately to himself, Ronon hurried out of the gym to search for a certain astrophysicist.

 

“ _Zelenka_! Try not to be an idiot and do your job correctly for once! I'd like to be out of here by dinnertime, thank you very much. And _where is my coffee_?”

If anyone noticed that Rodney was a bit more overbearing than normal today, they said nothing or chalked it up to him being his usual bossy self. And if they did notice, they weren't crazy enough to call him out on it unless they wanted to be his victim for the remainder of their work period. Nonetheless, Rodney felt maybe he should tone it down a bit because his fellow scientists weren't the reason for his current sexual frustration. (God, the very idea of having that type of relationship with any of them made him contemplate suicide by consumption of orange juice. Just _no_.)

He didn't know why he was making such a big deal of it anyhow. Ronon had given him his word that what occurred in the gym wasn't a fluke, wasn't something they would pretend never happened. No, he said—he _promised_ that they could continue at a later time. Hell if he knew when that would be though, and that more than anything was what caused the biting edge of aggression he was dishing out toward his innocent staff.

Dr. Kusanagi scuttled over to him with a mug of caffeine between her tiny hands. She stuttered something about it being blended just how he liked, but Rodney waved her away after plucking it from her grasp. As he blew at the steam that swirled from the dark brew and tipped his head back for a sip, Rodney stalked to his desk where his open laptop awaited him. It was amidst a scan of a new black Ancient device one of the soldiers found during their recent explorations of previously uncovered sections in Atlantis. The device was about the size of a small tupperware container, shaped almost like a circle if not for the blocky stand the upper part was perched on. Said stand had boxy lights and buttons engraved with Ancient letters on them all around it whereas the round top was concave like a bowl. Inside that were familiar orangey, jagged grooves splayed from a central circle yet he couldn't place where he'd seen them. The only obvious thing about it was that something connected to it; objects didn't just sink in that way without some sort of purpose.

Rodney barely got the chance to sit down when he heard the unmistakable rumble of “Let's go.” He jolted upright whilst pivoting around to face an antsy looking Satedan. Ronon's arms were tense, hands flexing, and his pale green eyes were ardent yet clouded like they'd been earlier. For a second Rodney stood there, crooked mouth agape, astonished gaze plastered on Ronon, until pulling himself back together. He raised his eyebrow and thinned his lips, reverting to annoyance easily.

“Hello to you too, Conan. What are you doing here? I'm busy.”

“It's later.” he stated as if that was the answer to all life mysteries.

And suddenly it did answer the mystery of his abrupt appearance. He almost felt a little dumb for not getting it sooner, but he was too busy being shocked, eyes hysterically zipping around as he flailed his hands. “What, you mean _now_? Oh my God, I can't leave now—I have work to do! We found something the other day that may be vital to this expedition and I can't trust it in the hands of Zelenka or anybody else. They'll damage something—”

“McKay,” Ronon growled in a warning that goaded Rodney so unfairly. Just how was he supposed to resist when he used _that_ cadence with him? As impossible as it was, Rodney set his vocal chords to chastise him, but Ronon stepped forward into his space and all he could smell was the great scent of a freshly showered man with a hint of his natural spice that made Rodney forget what the hell he was going to protest. “You can follow me on your own two feet or I can drag you out by them. Your call.” His low pitch meant only for the physicist's ears sent a shiver right down his spine directly to his dick.

Nodding jerkily, Rodney didn't have control of his voice in that moment, his breath coming out uneven. Coffee abandoned, Rodney twisted away to inform the others of his departure. “I have to take care of something. Urgent business, you see. I better not come back to my lab blown up thanks to you bozos. It better be in the exact same condition I left it in or there will be hell to pay.”

“McKay!” Ronon shouted from the door.

“Zelenka, you're in charge.” he added as he rushed after the younger man, practically jogging so he wouldn't be too far behind.

It seemed Ronon had thought this through because he didn't ask whose place they were going to. Somehow he knew Rodney would want to use his due to his issues with his back. Or maybe he chose it because it was closer. Either way, he wasn't complaining. There was barely time for him to take a moment to release his pre-sex jitters after the door closed before Ronon had him pinned against it, returning right where they had left off. He whimpered under the sharp nips delivered to his bottom lip, blue eyes instantly falling shut. Ronon suckled the abused tissue, tender when he'd been rough mere seconds ago, and shoved his tongue past his defenses (which were none).

“You don't waste any time, do you?” Rodney joked, mildly incredulous.

Ronon grunted something that probably wasn't even a word, then went back to kissing him stupid.

He felt the hands holding the sides of neck slide down, mapping the expanse of his torso atop his jacket, and he wanted them under, skin against skin. As if he'd read his mind, Ronon unzipped his coat, pushed it down his arms, and tucked a hand beneath his shirt. His touch travelled up, his thumb grazing the edge of Rodney's bellybutton, making his stomach muscles twitch. When he found his chest, that thumb flicked over one of his nipples and the gentle scrape of a nail had Rodney arching and tearing his mouth away to moan. Ronon brushed feather-light kisses across his jaw and down the column of his throat, trailing the very tip of his tongue along the sensitive tendons there. Teeth bit the curve of his shoulder and neck and Rodney shuddered, already so turned on that his pants were uncomfortable.

His hands, which hadn't moved from their grip on Ronon's biceps, finally got the program as he grasped the hem of his sleeveless top and pulled it over his head. Rodney took in the sight of smooth bronze skin stretched tight over taut muscles, noted the vague dusting of hair decorating the taller man's chest, and saw small nicks healed from a life full of discipline and war before Ronon claimed his lips once more. Rodney didn't know when he'd lost his shirt too—somewhere between the mark on his neck and gawking, he figured—but the feel of their naked torsos meeting was better than imagined. A volt shot through him, made him hyperaware of the bigger body pressed to his own, of the fingers clinging to his waist, bringing them impossibly closer, that kept sending little sparks to his brain. Ronon attacked his throat again with special attention aimed on his pulse where it matched the Satedan's ink. The kind of focus he used had to mean more than just leaving a hickey because Ronon lapped at the bright mark like a cat, nibbling delicately, and gave it soft openmouthed kisses that bordered on reverent.

Ronon withdrew his mouth in favor of undoing Rodney's pants, simultaneously leading them toward the bed as he walked backwards, heady eyes watching the clever work of his hands. Meanwhile, Rodney took the moment to explore his partner, palms traversing over abs, pecs, and strong shoulders before diving down his back. But he stopped once he reached raised flesh that held a different texture from the rest of Ronon. If he had to put it in words, it was a satiny-rough mix of leather and silk; there were more than one too. Rodney knew without asking that they were the scars from the Wraith tracking device and he strangely felt guilty touching them without permission. His gaze met the younger man's, but instead of rage or pained discomfort Ronon was kind of blank, albeit faintly amused and very enticed.

“It's okay.” he assured Rodney while pushing both his boxers and BDUs down.

“Really?” Rodney didn't mean to sound like a scolded child, it was just... It seemed terribly personal, those scars. A lot more personal than what they were doing.

Ronon nodded as he wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yeah, don't worry about 'em,” He kissed Rodney's collarbone and quickly dragged a wet stripe over it. “Just relax and stay with me here. Don't think, feel.”

That sounded like a great idea, so he listened and tossed his earpiece on the nightstand. Kicking baggy pants and underwear from his ankles, he tangled his hand in Ronon's hair as the Satedan laved his nipple, covering it with his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Rodney shut his eyes, enjoying himself, and was surprised when he found himself falling backward on the bed. He watched Ronon strip the rest of his own clothes before joining him, crawling on hands and knees to hover above him. Tawny locks of hair fell over his shoulders, framing his slender youthful face, when he leaned down. Rodney met him halfway, lips moving restlessly in a pleasant massage. Their hips connected as Ronon lowered himself, stiff arousals seated side by side, and was rewarded with both of their groans.

Slowly, nearly too slow, Ronon rolled his hips, a tantalizing grind that bucked Rodney into his touch, desperate for more. He did it again, firmer, and it produced an embarrassing keen from the older man. Palming one of Rodney's bottom cheeks, his fingers spread with nails teasing the cleft of skin, Ronon lifted him higher and Rodney hooked his leg over him, digging his heel into a thigh. He struggled to breathe as they steadily rutted against each other, precum glazing their paths. His eyes screwed shut when he felt the flat pad of a finger circle his entrance. It was light at first, then built up pressure after he arched. Rodney's head lolled backed, the bob of his throat doing nothing to get oxygen within his lungs. Ronon teased his ear with his teeth, his exhales loud despite the gentle brush of them. For one ludicrous moment Rodney was mad that his partner wasn't in a similar state as him, no doubt acquiring asthma just from merely humping the Satedan. He bit his lip hard as the hand that wrapped around his cock rubbed and squeezed on every upstroke. Ronon shifted enough to use Rodney's thigh; the constant slip-slide of his erection left nothing to the imagination.

But Rodney refused to lay there like a sex doll while Ronon did all the work: Ronon wasn't the only one that wanted to venture his partner's body. Resting his hands over Ronon's chest, he pushed a bit to get him to lift up. “Hey, hey, hold on,” Rodney started hoarsely, glad that Ronon anchored himself above him on a single arm.

Ronon's plump lips were kiss-swollen and ever so slightly parted, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. (Ha, he wasn't as in control as Rodney had originally thought!) “What?” he wondered, voice gravelly, almost distorted in his lust.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but this isn't a one-sided thing, is it?” Despite it being rhetorical, Ronon shook his head anyway. “Mm, well then, let me do something for you.” He didn't explain any further, even at the dubious look on the Satedan's face, but he maneuvered them so that Ronon was on his back propped against the pillows, his arms bracketing his head, and Rodney was twisted halfway atop him. After he situated himself more comfortably between long golden-brown legs, Rodney slowly traced his hands over the bent angles of Ronon's arms until he laced their fingers. “Trust me, you're gonna like this.”

His resonating “Okay.” was muffled by a brief kiss—although not so brief that he didn't sneak his tongue inside or separate with a quiet, wet noise. Rodney descended the length of his powerful body, dotting it with hasty oral affections as he went. Eventually he made it to his destination and stared at Ronon's erection surrounded by a neat nest of sparse curls, which was a lovely revelation, the fact that Ronon trimmed. It lay proudly against his abs, fleshy crown peeking from its foreskin, as translucent fluid drizzled toward a thick base. While its size certainly fit the man it was attached to, it wasn't so big that it worried Rodney. Had he a ruler, he would've guessed it stood no further than seven and half inches.

He didn't know why the hell he pondered its exact proportions when he could be putting it to better use, especially given that wanton anticipation Ronon was pegging him with, supported on his forearms to see the show. Without any more hesitation, Rodney gave a little smirk as he enveloped the blunt tip in his mouth. Ronon's breath punched out of his lungs, granting Rodney a tiny burst of satisfaction, and he flopped back onto the pillows again. He could see him clenching the bed sheets as he carefully took more, jaw relaxing further and further to accommodate his partner. Remembering to breathe his nose, he still struggled since it had been so long since he'd done this, but he trekked on, determined to fit most of Ronon if he couldn't get all of him. His tongue swiped the slit, tastebuds coming to life on the bittersweet flavor, and he began to suck. Ronon moaned deep within his chest—probably the first legitimate sound he'd made since they'd started—so Rodney sucked harder, faster, while bobbing his head. Sometimes his teeth slightly scratched the velvet skin, although Ronon didn't seem to mind. Actually, it looked like he enjoyed it if the twitch of his hips was anything to learn from.

Rodney had to pull up for air, gasping across the head of his dick. No matter how set he was on his goal he knew it'd take awhile, particularly because he was so out of practice. But rather than give up he merely postponed it. He held his arousal upright and glided his lips along it, his tongue just barely fluttering across hard flesh. Rodney caressed Ronon tentatively, leisurely, as he mouthed his sac. The Satedan's thighs trembled and he could've sworn that was a whimper he heard just then. Wanting to be sure, Rodney drew one of his balls into the wet heat of his mouth and faintly tugged, quickly licking over the round weight. Ronon cried out gently as he bowed off the mattress. Rodney stayed where he was, continued his delightful torture, and switched attention to the other before taking his cock again.

Ronon suddenly thrust upward, choking him. “S-sorry.” he murmured, strained even in its quiet volume, but he ignored him and kept going, relaxing his throat and holding his hips down. Cheeks hollowed, Rodney sucked like his life depended on it, noisy slurps filling the air. He hummed just to tease Ronon more except fingers fisted his hair to yank him off with a loud succulent pop. “No more, _stop_ ,” Ronon begged, breathless. “Don't… don't wanna come yet.”

He looked at the younger man and felt his ego swell upon seeing the arm thrown over his eyes, teeth bared in a pleasurable grimace, jaw and shoulders tense presumably to keep from ejaculating. Well, apparently he hadn't been too badly out of practice. “Need a moment?” Rodney taunted, grinning.

Ronon lifted his arm to glare at him. Yet again Rodney didn't know how it happened, but one moment he was between Ronon's legs, the next he was flat on his back being straddled. A sharp gasp escaped as Ronon rocked down on him, the underside cleft of his ass sliding over the rigid length of his erection. He sank his nails in his flanks for a semblance of sanity, although that was rapidly deteriorating.

“So how're we gonna do this, McKay?” Ronon was saying in his perfectly calm baritone and he could just hear the fucking smirk in it without looking.

And he was still rocking too, damn him.

“... Do what exactly?” he managed to grit out.

“This,” Ronon motioned between them, then grabbed his dick with the same hand, fondling himself lazily as if they were discussing the weather. “Want me to take you? Or,” His smirk broadened into a small grin as he ground hard, tearing a moan from Rodney, “d'you wanna fuck me?” he whispered in his ear after he lent down, free hand keeping him from shifting all his weight on the scientist.

Rodney was mildly shocked, taken off guard by that proposal. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, making a quiet noise in his throat. “Yeah, why not? Be hot seeing you use the strength you keep so hidden even you're not unaware of it,” Ronon moaned, eyes closing, like just talking about it would send him in a frenzy. “Fuck, can just picture it. You sweaty, all outta breath, pounding me into submission, telling me to take it, making me beg to come. You want that, McKay? Having me at your mercy, letting you do anything you want to me. _Anything_.” he growled the last word and dropped his head to leave a harsh bite on his neck, causing Rodney to give a full body jerk.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed because he'd have to be crazy not to agree to something so fantastic that was also a once in a life time opportunity. “Though, perhaps some other time because before now all I could think about was _you_ in _me_ and I've been wanting it long before I had to leave the gym earlier.”

That got him a low chuckle. Ronon happily obliged by slithering off and turning Rodney on his stomach. An arm wove itself around him to scoot him up a bit, elevated him enough to stuff a pillow under his hips. “Relax.” was the only warning he was granted before he felt his ass pried apart and slick warmth darted over his hole. Rodney jumped with a non-too-quiet “Whoa!” He tried pushing himself up, but was promptly shoved back down and given a sharp nip on the camber of his cheek. “I said _relax_.” Ronon had a certain tone that while it may have been good-natured also held a _you better listen or there will be pain in the near future_ (something that was less a threat and more a definite risk). He didn't have a choice but to obey, hugging a pillow to his face to hide his irrational shame.

It was one thing to give a man a blowjob, but another thing entirely to have his mouth behind him in that general vicinity. He didn't really know what made it sacrilegiously different except that it felt much more intimate, all areas of his body laid bare before judging eyes. Although, honestly, Ronon seemed completely unbiased since he was gifting him with incessant worship, the soft thin hairs of his goatee adding a ticklish contrast to the odd thrill of being rimmed. After he adjusted to it, Rodney couldn't deny how his entrance loosened nor the bliss that erupted throughout him. Turning his head, face flushed and shame forgotten, the delicate resonances that he made encouraged Ronon not to stop. No, he kicked it up a notch by _inserting_ his tongue, merging a pathway for what was to come next.

Rodney swayed into the remarkable talents of the Satedan, moaning under his breath and slurring several pleas. The short back and forth plunges of the pink muscle was a mockery of what another part of his anatomy could do, but at the moment Rodney couldn't find any fault with it. His mind grew foggy as he stayed sprawled before Ronon for God knew how long, then the distinct feel of his finger cleared the haze with a surge of tangible desire. It took over for his tongue, driving deeper and twisting with each march forward. A second accompanied the first and a third shortly after, every strike merciless and oh so good, especially when Ronon found that special spot. Rodney was vaguely aware he was half-thrashing, half-humping the pillow imprisoned under him. He grew impatient. Ronon just wouldn't give him what he truly wanted, seemed to get off on making him go crazy.

Rodney raised his upper body enough to look over his shoulder. “For God's sake, Ronon, _please_!” he snapped, although the desperation at the end ruined whatever demand had been there.

Damn the bastard, he was smiling; he knew exactly what the hell he was doing. “Please what, Rodney?”

Hearing his first name in a situation like this sent shivers skipping down his spine, but he attempted to suppress it unsuccessfully. “Ugh, don't make me beg. Just... you _know_ , don't play coy.”

Ronon pretended not to hear him as he increased his speed and kept hitting his prostate without fail. A strangled noise left his lips, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. He hung his head with a rough swallow, forced to cram his pride into a box. “Ronon, please, I want—I need you...”

“Need me to what?”

Oh, he was tempted to tell him to go jump off a balcony, but surprisingly, it wasn't difficult to fall into a humble act as long as it was Ronon he was doing it for. “I need you in me, please, please, I can't take it anymore—oh God, please, it's killing me, please, Ronon, please!”

Ronon took pity on him because soon his fingers were gone and he was arched over Rodney, shushing him sweetly while petting a hand through his hair and down his back. “It's okay, s'all right, I've got you.” he murmured.

Rodney only had to wait three seconds before his wish came true: Ronon pushed forward, his thick cock gradually sinking deeper until he was finally buried as far as he could go. He sobbed his gratitude on a choked groan, babbling about how amazing the younger man felt filling him to the brink, his puckered ring stretched around him in a perfect fit. It was infinitely better once Ronon started moving—in and out, in and out, in and out—his solid rhythm unbroken, unrushed. One hand clutched his waist, thumb pressed into the hollow of his lower back, guiding him to accept each snap of tapered hips, the globes of supple cheeks cushioning his groin. Whimpers escaped freely as he relinquished all control, succumbing to the euphoria that coursed through his veins. Rodney heard Ronon's feral grunts and growls when he went faster, traded his measured flow for calculated surges that skidded Rodney across the bed. He had to flatten his palm on the wall to prevent smacking into it. Ronon held the edge of the headboard in a white-knuckled grip, adding momentum to his hard thrusts. Arching, Rodney accepted whatever his partner delivered like a pro and slammed back, unafraid of potential aches and bruises.

Stilling himself to the hilt, Ronon grabbed Rodney's arms to haul him onto his back without disconnecting their bodies. He shoved his thighs obscenely wide as he continued his pace uninterrupted. His knees were held apart at that angle, providing the taller man with both a view of Rodney's dick and his own sinking over and over inside him. The sight made him curse viciously, head falling back and eyes closing tight.

Rodney didn't recognize his own needy voice as he cried the Satedan's name. He smoothed his hands up Ronon's navel, smearing the sheen of sweat that supplied a vibrant glow to his dark olive skin, and ventured higher to pinch his nipples. Ronon's motions stuttered for just a moment on a shaky gasp, back going ramrod straight, but he found his balance quickly, sliding his forearms under Rodney's knees as he held onto his thighs and leveraged him further onto his lap. The slightly altered position had Rodney absorb every punch to the bundle of nerves whether he wanted to or not. His vision went spotty and maybe his hearing dimmed because all Rodney registered was the lightning dancing all over and within him, involuntarily snapping his spine off the mattress, his slack mouth falling open on a long moan.

“Ronon, oh God, Ronon, I-I can't—I'm gonna—” And abruptly Ronon stopped, nestled so snug he could feel him throbbing. “ _What the hell, Ronon_ , _don't fucking s_ —”

He slapped a hand over Rodney's mouth as he lined atop him, unintentionally pushing himself deeper. “Shhhhh,” he implored, smiling against better judgment since Rodney was trying to burn him alive with that glare of his. “Not yet.” Keeping his hold there for bit longer, he removed his hand in favor of replacing it with his lips.

The kiss only lasted a couple of seconds before Rodney jerked his head back, glaring again. “Wait a minute, why?”

“Because.” he answered helpfully, littering kisses down his throat.

Sighing, Rodney rolled his eyes. “Care to elaborate, Socrates?”

“Who?”

“Will you just _tell me why_ or else I'm going finish myself off—with or without you. Christ.”

Ronon chose that opportunity to grind languidly, just once, his strong stomach dragging over the older man's trapped erection, earning him a garbled sound that was barely human. With the scientist's brain nearly fried, Ronon resumed his kiss, seeking out Rodeny's taste to silence any possible protests or chances of recovery. He knew he'd won when two hands threaded through his wooly locks to pull him closer. They spent many long minutes memorizing the contours of their lips, teeth, tongues, and even the palette of each other's mouths; their hands occasionally offered a respite of a few caresses here and there. It was only when Ronon was certain he'd calmed the build of his orgasm, receded it to a suitable distance, that he rolled them over. Shoulder blades supported by downy pillows, he easily raised Rodney to sit upright in his lap, both groaning quietly as his arousal shifted within the vise of Rodney's ass.

“Because,” Ronon continued, voice nothing but a breathy exhale until he licked his lips and swallowed with a suddenly dry throat, “I want you to come like this, riding me.”

Rodney shook his head like he was going to argue, but thought better of it. He wiggled slightly to adjust to his new location. Ronon lifted his groin to persuade him, mumbling something that sounded like _Yeah, that's it, c'mon_. He paused, braced his fingers on the Satedan's midriff, and sighed. “I hate you sometimes. Primarily when your ideas are better than mine.”

Ronon grinned.

Rodney carefully rose up with an exquisite hiss at the slow slide of hot thickness testing the boundaries of how far he could stretch. There was a dull burn like he was being prepped all over again and he fucking _loved_ it. So did Ronon, who was already urging him to hurry, his big hands on Rodney's hips, his feet planted firmly as he bent his knees. Rodney reached behind him to use Ronon's thighs as purchase, compelling his wordless request by undulating faster, driving him deeper. He was willing to bet after they were officially done and sated his legs would be terribly sore, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now.

“Fuck, Rodney, you're perfect like this.” Ronon growled as he eagerly met Rodney's motions.

Fingers ran up Rodney's sides to rest just beneath his arms, thumbs toying with his nipples, coaxing a frantic dance that left him bouncing and writhing. Whether Ronon knew or not, that declaration, regardless if it'd been uttered in the heat of the moment, gave him a rush of confidence equal to winning a Nobel Prize. And maybe it wasn't just a slip of the tongue: his touch traced over his body—chest, shoulders, back, and most importantly, his stomach. The very stomach that wasn't rock-solid or ridged like the warrior; it had a pinch of extra flesh that made it too soft for a “real man.” But Ronon, warmhearted-beneath-all-that-aggression-and-stoicism Ronon, let his hands linger on the area Rodney was self-conscious. He forced himself to look at the Satedan's face just to make sure he wasn't doing that to poke fun or wonder why it even existed and found comfort in what he saw. Jade eyes, so dark they were nearly black, raptly staring right back at him with an expression of pure sultry desire, his lips ever so slightly open, and when Ronon glanced down at their bodies continually uniting his teeth snagged his bottom lip in a guttural mewl, snapping his lascivious gaze back to Rodney's.

That look, coupled with the obvious attraction Ronon held for him, pushed Rodney over the edge. With one last drop down, wholly sheathing his partner, Rodney tossed his head back and shouted as he painted his navel with streaks of ivory, shuddering right to his very bones, it was so intense. Ronon sprang up to kiss him rough and sloppy, arms wrapping around his middle, and _pounded_ him through his climax, uncaring about oversensitivity. It ripped husky cries from Rodney that he didn't know were pleas to stop or to keep going. Finally, _finally_ , he felt Ronon lurch into erratic pumps before emptying inside him as a loud string of Satedan words tumbled into the room.

Blurry, it was blurry afterward. He realized he was arranged on the bed at some point, felt a chilly breeze for awhile, then something warm, wet, and not quite soft but wonderful nonetheless. Heat returned at his side and a light weight settled over his abdomen. Puffs of air tickled his ear, imperceptibly ruffling his hair. It took a lot of willpower, but Rodney peeled his eyes open, noted he was on his back, and saw Ronon lounged on his front. His eyes were closed except he knew he wasn't asleep since he felt fingertips idly brushing his skin.

“Wow,” Rodney blurted. “That was absolutely epic. There's no other term satisfactory enough to deem what we just did.”

Ronon laughed one of those gut deep laughs that reminded people of his age. Shit, no wonder they'd gone at it for so long. What was more shocking was that Rodney lasted until the very end (no, he would not think about the first time he almost came, only to be rudely prohibited from doing so). “Glad you had fun, McKay.” Ronon replied, face cradled in his palm as he propped himself up on an elbow.

“Rodney, you should keep calling me Rodney now.”

“Rodney.” he agreed, the corners of his mouth curling in a vague smile.

“What was it you said? You know, at the—um—at the end?” He had the grace to blush, no matter how pointless. “That was Satedan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it? Repeat it.” It had sounded like a full sentence instead of a random fragment or expletives blurted in the climax of a really good fuck.

Ronon debated the request, but figured he might as well. Plus, he seemed to be feeling particularly generous. _“Gellajanyth Satea Satda eloti-pateth massyu wae.”_ he said fluidly, a low melody so elegant and crisp that each punctuated word was clear, despite his native accent.

Utterly dumbfounded, Rodney gawked at him as if he'd grown two heads and they'd rotated three hundred sixty degrees in opposite directions. After he caught himself he cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “And that means...?”

He eyed Rodney curiously, pale irises alight with intrigue, before leaning forward to set a butterfly kiss on the hickey on his neck. “It's a popular prayer where I'm from. You say it when you get something you're grateful for and don't wanna jinx it. Means 'thank you Mother Satea for the splendors you have bestowed unto me,' ” Ronon shrugged. “Roughly anyway. Satedan doesn't have many words like English or Ancient, so translated literally it'd be 'gratitude Satea Mother special gift given.' We don't really have particles.”

While he hadn't expected a transient lesson on an alien language or insight into Ronon's religion, Rodney was nevertheless glad to have gotten it. Ronon rarely spoke about Sateda, which was totally understandable, so he felt honored to have that knowledge shared with him of all people. Hands down, Ronon was closest to Sheppard and Teyla—in that order—and when he thought about it he wanted to ask why it was _him_ lying beside the caveman, not either of those two. But he put it on the backburner because he had another question that might be culture related.

“Okay, well, what's the whole neck thing about then?” He gestured to his red-marked pulse, eyebrow quirked.

A noise that seemed suspiciously like aggravation shot out of Ronon and he flopped onto his back, withdrawing his arm from around Rodney. It left a cold spot where his arm had been a heater of sorts; Rodney frowned a little at the lost.

His fingers linked across his stomach as his eyes drifted to the older man waiting for an answer. “You always this chatty after sex?”

Rodney didn't even think about it. “Yes, actually,” He slowly blinked. “The first few moments were merely a delay, a chance at rejuvenation, if you will.”

“Uh huh. Right,” A pause. “Yeah, I can't instantly go to sleep either. Like to watch whoever I'm with fall asleep first in case something happens. Is that weird?” He quieted at the last comment, seemingly timid except Ronon didn't get timid. Maybe he was worried that Rodney would think him a freak or something.

Fortunately, he didn't and he shook his head to stress that. “No, it isn't weird. I sorta get it... in a sense, I think,” He considered his words, humming briefly. “I mean, you always look out for people, Ronon, especially our team and civilians. It's in your nature. It's quite noble of you actually, so it'd be odd if you _didn't_ wait to nod off after the person you've slept with.”

Ronon studied the ceiling, brow crinkled, as that sunk in, then grunted his approval.

“Anyway, your obsession with my neck?” Rodney reminded. “Or necks in general—I don't know.”

“On Sateda,” Ronon began after a roll of his eyes, “the neck—the heart line there—it's considered a type of love spot,” His mouth twisted down, unsatisfied with that description. “I mean, it's an area of importance. When someone kisses there or leaves a mark or touches it, it's sentimental. Intimate,” Almost unnoticeably Rodney witnessed tension seep into the taller man's silhouette. He wondered if he shouldn't have asked, but Ronon went on. “You're not—I'm not supposed—it's usually reserved for serious relationships, for someone you devote yourself to, but I dunno, I just—” Ronon shrugged, more of a roll of his shoulders to bleed out the strain that adorned his body. “Bad habit. Don't worry about it.”

 _Well, good luck with that advice._ Rodney had started worrying the second he'd heard “importance,” but he nodded anyway. If Ronon was going to act like it was nothing to concern themselves with despite evidence they really probably should, then he would do the same.

Fiddling with the blanket fold beside his hip, Rodney idly realized neither of them were covered. Anyone could walk in, see them as naked as the day they were born. That was if anybody was bold enough to come stomping into the private quarters of Dr. Rodney McKay, genius astrophysicist of the Atlantis Expedition, most intelligent man in two galaxies. But damn his mind, he remembered what he'd pushed to his subconscious to hear the story behind Ronon's neck fetish. “Um, can I ask another...?” He flicked his blue eyes to Ronon sheepishly.

He looked back, silently expectant.

Rodney sucked in a deep breath. “All right—uh—I—well, you know we don't exactly get along most days and—”

“McKay, don't.”

He frowned. “I told you to call me Rodney.”

“I won't if you go there.”

“How do you know where I'm going? You didn't even let me finish!” he snapped, defensive.

“You're gonna ask why I picked you and I refuse to give an answer to that.”

“Why not?”

“ 'Cause it's a dumb question.”

“It is not—”

“ _Is_.”

“—a dumb question! Besides, that wasn't really what I wanted to ask!”

Ronon pushed himself up so could he twist above Rodney, arm extended over his chest, hand leveled on the sheets. A scowl contorted his features into a mask normally reserved for fighting. “Then _what_.”

With a raspy tone like that he was too scared to speak, but also too frightened to remain quiet because Ronon would get even more peeved. “Uh,” He swallowed at the impatient lift of an eyebrow. “I was going to ask why not Colonel Sheppard o-or Teyla. Wait, do you even like women?”

Several seconds ticked by wherein Ronon mimicked a statue until he swiveled around, his back to Rodney as he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows benched on his knees. He raked his dreads away before using two strands to tie the entire mane back. “Yeah, I like women.”

Rodney followed Ronon, sitting next to him, but didn't look at him immediately. He stared at his toes first before he mucked up the courage. “And John and Teyla?” he muttered, annoyed by how weak he sounded.

“Teyla and I are just friends. I'd never with Sheppard. He—no.”

He knew he shouldn't prod anymore, but it plagued him. “But you guys get along so well. Sometimes it's like you're the same person. Not exactly, obviously, but you just—you seem like you'd make a good match.”

“ _No_ , Rodney, we wouldn't.” Ronon emphasized through gnashed teeth.

“Well, why not?”

“What does it matter!”

“It just does, okay!”

“No.”

“For God's sake, I'm not pulling your teeth here. Honestly, why not? You're both military—”

“ _Exactly_ , that's fucking exactly why, Rodney. He's my commanding officer—my taskmaster.” Ronon sounded exasperated and angry as he rubbed his hand over his face, releasing a heavy sigh that could've been a groan.

All Rodney could do was stare incredulously, mouth agape, eyes wide. “You're kidding, right? _Seriously_? Are you seriously telling me you believe in that Don't Ask, Don't Tell bullshit?”

Ronon gave him a look like he wanted nothing more than to punch him. “No, of course not.”

“Then please, do explain it to me, Ronon Dex, why John Sheppard being your commanding officer has anything to do with not shacking up with him.”

“ 'Cause I shot my last taskmasker!” he bellowed, jumping to his feet and hurtling a blast of icy rage at Rodney. Now he definitely knew he crossed the line. “I loved him, but I killed him in cold blood, and you know what? I'd do it again too 'cause the bastard fucking _deserved_ it. Wish I coulda tortured the sonuva bitch for what he did, so he'd feel the agony of all the people he hurt 'cause of his selfish cowardice—his betrayal—but dead is dead, right, so guess that's good enough. Satisfied, _McKay_? Any more questions or can I go now?”

His breath was ragged after the outburst, fists clenched at his sides, body ready to spring into action. There was a deadly fire in his gaze that made Rodney's skin crawl and he prayed to a god he didn't believe in that it was only an effect of reliving the anguish Rodney had unknowingly dug up. He waited until those hands unfurled, but even then he was cautious since Ronon's posture didn't change. Rodney hoped his voice wouldn't crack and came out as unfazed as he wanted to be as he said, “Sure, you can go,” He ignored the sharp pang when Ronon immediately snatched his leather pants from the ground. “But,” Rodney continued, letting emotion flood his voice, “I'd like it if you stayed.”

It got Ronon to stop, if only temporarily, bent with a foot hidden under the waistband. He turned his head over his shoulder, narrowed eyes puzzled rather than ferocious. (Truly amazing how rapidly his expressions altered liked that.) He stood frozen at the awkward angle, quiet.

“Please?” Rodney added, grimacing. He knew the Satedan's departure would leave him to wallow in a guilty abyss he honestly didn't want to deal with. They shouldn't split on such awful terms; he wouldn't let them.

Relief filled his lungs upon seeing Ronon straighten and relinquish the garment. Rodney yanked the blankets back, then scooted into his previous place before their near falling out. “Come back to bed.” he admonished, patting the vacant space next to him.

And Ronon did, although he hadn't spoken yet, but the scientist really didn't expect him to bounce back quickly anyway. It was wrong of him to push that far, especially when everyone on Atlantis was aware how tight-lipped Ronon was about his past. The brightside to their situation was they didn't lie facing away. No, Ronon rested on his side and Rodney pulled the covers up to their shoulders—well, _his_ shoulders. The top of the sheets met somewhere above Ronon's elbow. Rodney risked slinking closer and was content when he was given no warning or snarl or sock to the jaw.

Minutes followed in silence, both staring each other in the eye.

“Sorry,” Rodney managed, cleared his throat, tried again. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

“S'okay.”

“No it isn't,” Sometimes he hated how Ronon minimized things. “I—you're not ready to talk about stuff like that and it was wrong of me to question your motives or assume that just because you and Sheppard have a good rapport that—that—that you'd, you know, hook up. I guess I only...” Sighing, he shook his head. “No, I'm not sure why I did that. Why I _do_ that. You'd think someone would knock some sense into me by now, but I suppose they're cognizant if anything happens to me they'd surely die during the next Pegasus galaxy catastrophe.”

He hadn't meant for it to be a joke, but Ronon grinned anyway and, hey, if he thought it was humorous, then why not let him chuckle? Better than irate for sure. What was better, Ronon cupped his cheek while kissing him chastely, tranquil and languorous, a mere hint of tongue bringing its initial sweetness to an unfair torment. He tucked his face against Rodney's neck and draped his arm around him. “Sleep, Rodney.” Ronon suggested, semi-muffled.

Sighing lightly, Rodney squirmed closer again and nodded awkwardly, dreads bumping his chin. “Hm, excellent idea. Goodnight.”

“It's afternoon.”

“Technicalities. Now shut up and let me sleep. It was your idea, after all.”

Ronon decided to listen. Unbeknownst to the scientist (or perhaps he secretly knew which was why he slumbered so fast), he stayed conscious awhile longer to watch Rodney, glad that the tense lines of his body faded into relaxation and the tempo of his breathing reduced to slow, deep inhales. Ronon fingered Rodney's pulse fondly, careful not to wake him. It was a long time before he drifted off also, hoping for pleasant dreams he would remember.

But a screaming tinny voice destroyed the peace that emitted around the room, startling them both awake: Ronon zapped upright and Rodney almost collapsed out of the bed. His bedside clock told him they'd been out for a little over three hours. The so-called intruder happened to come from the physicist's wretched headset. _“Zelenka to McKay. Hello, hello? Dr. McKay, please respond.”_ In retrospect it wasn't screaming, but it was no less irritating. He'd been so goddamn comfortable, warm, _safe_.

“Gonna get that?” Ronon muttered as he fell into the pillows, closing his eyes.

Rodney grimaced. “I really don't want to.”

_“Dr. McKay, are you there? Please respond.”_

“Sounds important.”

Of course it did, Zelenka was utterly incompetent, but instead of stating the obvious Rodney forced himself to pick up his headset. “Yes, what, what do you want? You interrupted a tremendous dream I was having.”

_“You are needed in the lab. The Ancient technology that was found? We may have solved what it does.”_

Oh, that was excellent news. “I'm on my way,” Rodney tapped his earpiece to end the commute. “I have to go.” he informed as he stepped out of bed, searching for his clothes.

“Yeah, I got that, thanks.” Ronon replied with a roll of his eyes. He turned onto his back, stretching his limbs and arching with a hazy grunt. Joints popped and cracked before he melted into the mattress, delightfully cozy.

God, it really wasn't fair how right after waking up Ronon was still attractive. Worse part was he didn't even do it on purpose, he simply _was_. Sadly, Rodney succeeded only in putting on his boxers when he debated calling in sick. “Comfortable?” He quirked an eyebrow as he tried to sound contemptuous, not wanton. Although it was a stupid question because of course Ronon was friggan comfortable laid out on a therapeutic bed, cushioned by fluffy pillows, blankets bunched around his hips, a single leg sticking out with its knee drawn up, one sinewy arm across his stomach while the other was tucked behind his head.

Ronon caught him staring and didn't fight the slow smirk that painted his features. “Be more comfortable if you didn't hafta go.” The bastard licked his lips.

Rodney dropped his shirt as he moved toward the bed with a hopeful gaze. “I can totally stay if you want me to. Really, it's no problem.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No, Rodney, they need you.”

“Who does?”

“Zelenka, the people in the lab,” He gestured carelessly toward the door. “Y'know, your job.”

Frowning, Rodney's shoulders sagged. “Oh right, them.”

Ronon chuckled.

Releasing a loud sigh, he reluctantly grabbed his shirt again to pull it over his head. “For once I'd just like to take a whole day off without being called back in. Is that too much to ask?” he grumbled as he found his pants.

The older man jumped slightly when an extra pair of hands zipped and snapped his fly from behind him. He twisted his head to look at Ronon, who took the opportunity to steal a kiss. Although it was moreso his teeth terrorizing his bottom lip, then soothing it with a slow sweep of his tongue. “When you get back I'll make it up to you.” Ronon vowed, all husky whispers and deep growls.

“Promise?” Rodney breathed, refusing to part just yet.

His response was having a telltale bulge pressed against his rear, followed by a rough suck on his neck that renewed the hickey which would no doubt get him strange looks. But who the fuck cared? Let them stare. After all, it was truly an ego boost to be the object of someone's envy.

Or in this case, all of Atlantis.


End file.
